


Glove Compartment

by purajobot935



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Family, Friendship, Gen, One Shot, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purajobot935/pseuds/purajobot935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots based on items inside Jazz's glove compartment and how they got there...</p><p>One of my older fics based on the first live action movie back in 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dressing A Princess - Mikaela's story.

It all started with a paragraph over at the "It's A Date" fic that spawned 5 little bunnies of their own. Based on the five items inside Jazz's glove compartment and how they got there.

The first one belongs to Mikaela.

  
**Mikaela – Dressing a Princess**

Trust her luck, she thought. The one day she ventured outdoors without an umbrella, the clouds opened up and the rain came pouring down in torrents. As the first shower hit the ground below, Mikaela squeaked and ducked back under the awning of the detention facility’s exit. Wonderful, now she had no way of hailing a cab back to town unless she wanted to get soaked to the bone, and what sane driver would want to pick up a bedraggled and wet girl standing outside a prison?

She glanced up at the sky as she heard a rumble of engines coming towards her and decided to try her luck anyway. Five minutes later she retreated under the awning again, wet and miserable. Times like these she wished she owned a car like her boyfriend did – the giant alien robot part being optional of course – but right now she could barely afford a bicycle, let alone a car.

Well, at least she had her own two feet and since she was already drenched, she figured she may as well walk back home, or at least try to make it to the nearest bus-stop. Her only hope was that the little money she had with her wouldn’t get too damp and tear.

As she was about to step out into the rain again, there came the purr of a very high-performance engine, and Mikaela wondered what kind of person would be driving a sports car in these parts, in these conditions. Curious, she peeped out. That was when she saw a low-slung white Pontiac Solstice hydro-plane through a puddle on its way towards her.

When it reached the spot where she was standing, the car came to a stop and a window rolled down before a rich voice spoke.

“Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this huh?” A door opened. “C’mon, get in.”

Mikaela smiled and quickly ran towards the Solstice, diving inside as the door closed behind her. A seatbelt came around and secured her before the car moved off again.

“Thanks, Jazz,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m getting your interior all wet though.”

“Ah, it’ll dry out soon enough,” the Autobot replied. “But what are you doing out here all alone in such a place?”

“Just visiting my dad. He’s an inmate there,” she said quickly. “Car-theft.”

Sensing her shiver, Jazz increased the heat inside his interior to warm her up. “When’s he due out?”

“Oh, his parole’s coming up in a couple of weeks.” She leaned back in her seat and sighed.

“Hoping he’ll make it? You sound worried.”

“I know he’ll make it. I’m just worried about something else, don’t ask, it’s silly.” She fished in her bag for a couple of tissues to dab at the water on her skin. “There’s actually this dance coming up,” she started. “And Sam asked me to go, and I said yes. He’s really looking forward to it. I mean, he gets to wear a tux, and I get to wear a pretty dress, if only I could afford a pretty dress ‘cause those things cost a fortune.” Mikaela shut her mouth with a snap, realizing she’d been rambling.

“I see,” Jazz said.

“I didn’t mean to ramble like that, I’m sorry. It’s not your problem.”

“So when is this big dance?”

“Friday. Couple of days from now.” Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to disappoint Sam, so I’ll have to go, but he wont be getting the princess he expects to see.”

Jazz stopped in front of Mikaela’s home. “You still have two days. Something could happen.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll come down with the ‘flu and I wont have to go.” She got out and gave the Solstice a pat on the roof. “Thanks for the ride Jazz.”

“Anytime, darlin’. Take care of yourself now.”

\--------

When Ratchet walked into the common area of the hangar later that evening, he was surprised to find Jazz there, busy using one of the computer terminals. Normally the flamboyant young lieutenant would be out with his yellow partner-in-crime encouraging some deviant act or the other, so it aroused Ratchet’s curiosity to see what the white mech was up to.

Magnifying his vision and peering over Jazz’s shoulder, the medic was surprised to find him browsing the internet in search of… no… no that couldn’t be possible.

“Say Ratch, you have Mikaela’s vital statistics, don’t you?” Jazz asked, without taking his optics off the screen.

Ratchet jumped. Frag that mech’s extra-sensory hearing, he could never sneak up on Jazz even if he tried. “I may have, why?”

“Need them. Gotta figure out what size she is, ‘cause I think I found the perfect one for her, for the dance on Friday.”

Oh, so that was what he was upto, Ratchet thought. “And just how are you going to pay for it?”

“Didn’t the government create an account for us?”

“Yes, but that was mainly for my use, to purchase parts and other equipment for repairs and maintenance.”

Jazz turned bright blue optics on him. “And you can't spare just a small sum of that to bring joy to one of our closest human friends?”

Ratchet scowled at him, even as he gave him Mikaela’s stats and the account number. One day, he swore he would just mind his own business.

\--------

Mikaela was startled out of putting on her make-up by the sound of a very insistent and very familiar horn outside. She stood up and looked down at her plain red dress with a resigned sigh, before going outside to see what was up. She was supposed to be waiting for Sam and Bumblebee to pick her up, so she was rather surprised to see Jazz parked there.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, poking her head out of the door.

“Just fine, li’l lady. Sam and Bumblebee went on ahead, so I’m here to drive you to your dance. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just a minute.”

Mikaela ducked back inside to finish touching up, bundled up her hair into a ponytail, slipped on a pair of strappy black heels, grabbed her purse and ran down the stairs into the waiting Solstice. As she shut the door, and Jazz started to drive, the overhead light came on, and Mikaela gasped when she saw what lay on the other seat.

A beautiful, deep blue dress, pressed and wrapped in plastic was draped over the leather back-rest and the girl felt her jaw drop and she reached out with shaking fingers to touch it.

“Best get dressed,” Jazz said with a chuckle in his voice. “I’d stop and let you get changed properly, but we’ll be late then, so I hope you can manage while I drive.”

“How did… I… you…”

“I thought the blue would match those pretty eyes of yours.”

“Jazz… thank you.”

“Hehe. Thank Ratchet. He helped pay for it.”

Mikaela was out of one dress and into the other in a matter of minutes, marveling at how the blue dress fit her like a glove as she ran a hand over the fabric. She had no qualms about changing inside the Autobot’s interior, trusting Jazz to be gentlemanly enough to look away.

“You can look now,” she announced when she was done, shaking loose her hair and dropping her hair-tie into the glove compartment.

“And what a pleasant sight it is indeed,” Jazz said.

Mikaela blushed a little and patted his dashboard. “Didn’t have to do this y’know.”

“I know, but I wanted to. Besides, it was worth it.” Jazz turned into the school compound and headed to a secluded area where he knew Sam and Bumblebee were waiting for them. “We’re here, princess.”

The girl carefully stepped out of the sports car and waited for him to transform while Bumblebee gently pushed a very stunned Sam towards his girlfriend. Jazz transformed in the meantime and knelt when Mikaela gestured for him to come closer. As soon as he was near enough, she leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, again.

Jazz grinned. “You’re welcome, princess.”


	2. Dressing A Princess - Mikaela's story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do Sam and Jazz get up to when they only have each other for company?

Singin' the Blues - Sam's Story

Jazz lay on his back in Sam’s backyard, with his head pillowed on his arms, gazing idly up at the blue sky above him. It was a bright, clear day and it would have been perfect had Bumblebee been there with him, but said mech was currently under-going a maintenance check with Ratchet back at their base and wouldn’t be free to return till later that night. He would have been keeping Bumblebee company right now, but had to stay back in case Sam needed transport during that time.

The boy was moving around in his room and had the radio on, which Jazz was only half paying attention to until a particular tune caught his attention and made him raise his head slightly. The style was quite unlike any other he’d heard so far, which was saying something considering the vast and varied types of music the humans possessed. Coupled with the short time he’d been online, he simply hadn’t had the time to sit down and go through everything. 

Currently he was having fun exploring the history and techniques of Chinese orchestra and their instruments which were quite different compared to what he found in the west. The style, too, was also completely unique and it fascinated him to no end.

Still, what he was hearing now had piqued his curiosity, and he got up and carefully made his way to the window.

“What’s that you’re listening to, Sam?” he asked.

Sam jumped, startled, and turned to face the Autobot. “Holy sh-! Don’t sneak up on people like that!” he wheezed. “You nearly gave me a coronary.”

“Sorry. Just wanted to know what kind of music that was.”

“What? That stuff on the radio? It’s Blues music, dude. Not heard it before?”

“Not yet. Sounds nice.” Jazz foot started to tap and his head started to bop along to the rhythm. “Sounds real nice.”

Sam watched the white Autobot start to get into the music. “Heh, you really like this stuff, don’t you?” He tilted his head. “That why they call you Jazz? ‘Cause of the whole music thing?”

“Y’could say that.”

“Hmm…” Sam sat down on his bed and pulled on his shoes. “You have any plans for the day?”

“Not really. I was supposed to hang around with you incase you needed a ride.”

“Well, I need a ride.” Sam stood. “Meet you out front.”

Wondering what the boy had planned, Jazz shrugged and transformed, rolling onto the road in front of the Witwicky residence. Sam ran out a minute later and climbed inside. Jazz shut the door after him and revved his engine.

“So where to?” he asked.

“Head to town. There’s a place called the ‘Chill-out Lounge’ down on Cooke’s Avenue.” He leaned back in the seat. “Can you do that hologram thing like Bumblebee does?”

“To a certain extent, upto a certain range. The closer I am to the hologram, the easier it is to maintain and control.”

“Even through something solid, like a wall? I know Bee has trouble doing it, but can you?”

“My audio-visual sensors are rather superior to Bumblebee’s so I don’t usually have a problem maintaining it through a solid barrier.” Jazz steered them the way Sam directed. “Why all the questions, kid?”

“Ever been to a karaoke lounge before?”

Jazz chuckled, looking up the term online. “Can't say I have.”

“Well then, my friend, you’re in for a treat.”

\-----

The Chill-out Lounge was a simple club tucked into the corner of the street that some of the local youth frequented because it was simply one of the clubs around that admitted them, thanks in part to the ‘no alcohol’ policy. Sam had been in there a few times before with Miles, back when he was still pining for Mikaela’s affections and needed a place to drown his sorrows – so to speak.

Jazz found a suitable parking spot by the side of the establishment and projected his hologram – a slightly older, dark-skinned man with slightly long-ish, floppy hair and bright blue eyes, dressed in a light grey shirt and black pants. Sam eyed him for a moment, then led the way into the club.

The music hit Jazz first as he and Sam looked for an empty table. It was similar to that blues music he’d heard playing on Sam’s radio, but lighter and more relaxing. The very sound of it, absorbed through the hologram, tingled his circuits and made him shift on his wheels while the hologram itself shimmered slightly.

“Oh, okay, that? That’s not cool,” Sam said as he looked around nervously. “No doing the whole flickering on and off thing in here. You’re not a fluorescent light for cryin’ out loud.”

“The music’s lovely,” Jazz said. “I can really feel it. I couldn’t help it.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow. “You’re really into music, huh – as in really into it.”

Jazz hitched a shoulder. “It’s part of who I am. Had the war not happened when it did, I think I would have gone on to study cultures and the arts, as you call it.” He looked down at the glass of water before him. “We had them, too, but we lost them. Lost to the war.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “But the war’s over now. Maybe you can start again. Start here.”

Jazz nodded. “It’s definitely an option. I’m going to look into it.”

Sam nodded to the empty stage and mic stand. “Why don’t you go sing something. It’s a karaoke lounge after all, and singing’s a good way to release bad feelings.” He back-pedaled. “At least that’s what I’ve heard, I mean.” He twitched. “Not that I would know personally.”

The Autobot chuckled then. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He stood. “Let’s check out their selection, shall we?”

He and Sam went over to the disc bank and rifled through the selections of songs available, sampling a few that looked appealing. Jazz snickered to himself at the sight of the jazz category as he flipped through the songs, then stopped at one that looked kind of appealing.

“That one,” he said.

Sam looked over. “You’re kidding, right?”

Jazz just raised an eyebrow and hopped onto the stage. “Just play it for me, Sam.”

The boy groaned at the reference and went to pop the disc into the player as Jazz chuckled at him. The music started up and Jazz took a moment to immerse himself in the melody and rhythms, swaying slightly in time to the beat, as Sam sat back down at their table.

They lyrics came up and Jazz leaned into the microphone without touching it.

“You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is still a sigh. The fundamental things apply, as time goes by.”

As Jazz continued to sing, Sam looked around the room and found that every eyeball was fixed on the man on stage before them. Jazz had a rich singing voice that just about captivated anyone within hearing range, and a hypnotic way of moving that seemed to mesmerize anyone who happened to look at him. He’s a natural up there, Sam thought, remembering his first meeting with Jazz.

“It’s still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die. The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by.”

Jazz bowed to the loud roar of applause and jumped off the stage, and Sam noticed just the slightest flicker in the hologram as he came towards him.

“You’re right. This karaoke thing is kinda fun. Haven't done something like that in a long time, which puts me a little out of shape, so perhaps we should get back to the car now ‘cause I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Yeah, alright… just let me go pay the bill and stuff and I’ll meet you outside.”

\-----

The hologram was gone and the Pontiac’s door open when Sam came around the building. Carefully, he slid in and shut the door behind him, and the car pulled out of the parking space and back onto the road. Sam busied himself with rummaging through a bag he carried.

“What’s that you got there?” Jazz asked.

“Oh, just a little something I picked up for you. Figured if you want to get back into this, you could use a little help.” He opened the glove compartment and slipped a blues cd inside.

Jazz chuckled. “Thanks, Sam. And maybe the next time we come back here, I could get to hear you sing.”

Sam paled and let out a high giggle. “No. Trust me, that’s one thing you do not want to hear. I don’t do singing.”

“You’re still a youngling. You can be trained.” Jazz flicked on his radio and drowned out any further protest from the boy.  
\-----


	3. Glove Compartment - One of the Family - Judy Witwicky's Story

Wow, I'm productive today. This took a while, having stalled at least twice before it was done, but it's finished at last and here for perusal.

  
It was no secret to anyone that Judy Witwicky loved her roses. When she was not planting and cultivating them in her garden, she was busy indoors weaving them into simple bouquets or elaborate arrangements for some occasion or the other.

Jazz was particularly fascinated by the whole thing. Sometimes when he was parked in their back yard with nothing to do, he liked to watch her at work, impressed by how something so simple that grew in dirt could be made to look so beautiful with just a little trim here and a couple of ribbons there.

Today she was busy doing a bouquet for a wedding with a bunch of yellow and white roses. The daughter of one of her cousins was getting married and Judy had been commissioned to do the three main bouquets – for the bride and her two bridesmaids. The two bridesmaids’ ones had been completed over the last couple of days, and now Judy sat under the porch in the back yard surrounded by roses, ribbons and rolls of tissue paper.

Jazz sat a few feet away from here in his Solstice form and observed closely how she placed the flowers together, randomly at first, and then in more of a pattern as the bouquet took shape.

“So will you be attending this wedding?” Jazz asked her.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.” She shrugged, hands working fast. “She’s not really my favorite cousin. I know Sam wont go, he’s afraid of one of the bride’s sisters. Ron hates getting dressed up for these things.”

“You’re not on good terms with her?”

“Well, we’ve had our fair share of disagreements over the years. The last one was a couple of months ago. She thinks its time for Sam to get into a serious relationship with a proper girl and not someone like Mikaela. I told her Mikaela was a lovely girl and Sam had the right to choose who he wanted to go out with, and that was the end of that discussion. Haven't spoken to her since.”

“But you’re still making these bouquets for her,” Jazz commented.

Judy shrugged. “She asked me to do them before we had our disagreement, and well, she’s still family.” She finished tying the flowers together and started adding some ribbons to the bunch of flora.

Jazz watched in rapt attention while he conversed. “These kindred bonds you humans have are rather curious. Despite whatever misgivings you may have about each other, the bonds keep you tied together and obligated to each other to a certain extent.”

The woman quirked an eyebrow at him as she reached to cut off the ribbon. “Don’t you have anything like it where you came from?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, I see. So you never knew who your parents were? Or if you had any brothers or sisters?” Judy wrapped some tissue paper around the stem of the bouquet.

“Transformers are created a little differently than humans are, Judy. If I ever had creators, I don’t remember them. Definitely don’t recall any siblings. It was basically every mech for himself. Maybe we were all connected through a common source of life, which was the Allspark, but we don’t have family units as you know them.” Jazz shifted on his tyres.

Judy finished the bouquet and stood, gathering up everything. “I guess I’d better go deliver these sometime today. Would you mind giving me a ride to her place”

“Not at all, Judy.” Jazz opened a door for her.

“Alright, just give me a few minutes to put some of these things away and grab the rest of them.”

\-----

The drive to Judy’s cousin’s house was mostly quiet until Jazz broke the silence.

“You two should patch things up. From what I understand, family is important to you humans, and the bonds you have are something quite unique to your species,” he said. “You should talk to her.”

“I’m not going to let her walk all over Sam and Mikaela.”

“You don’t have to, but you can explain to her that she shouldn’t judge people before meeting them.”

“Well, I suppose I can try.”

Jazz pulled up alongside a small urban house and turned into the drive. He opened a door to let Judy out and popped open his trunk for her to retrieve the flowers. Arms full of rose bouquets, she looked around them.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright out here all alone?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine. You just go on in and talk to your family.”

“I wont be long, I promise.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Judy headed to the house and Jazz saw her rap on the front door before it opened to admit her. As he watched her disappear inside, he thought about what they’d talked about before – about family and what he had told her. What he hadn’t told her was that sometimes he got envious of the whole family dynamics that he saw between the Witwicky family on a daily basis, of the bonds that human families had in general. As a Cybertronian, he never knew what it was like to have those kinds of bonds, and a part of him wished he could.

\-----------

Sometime later, Judy emerged from the house and headed back over to where Jazz was parked in a considerably better mood than she had been when they’d arrived. She looked at the car as she approached and thought back to what he had told her about not knowing his own family or what it was like to have a family in general. To her maternal nature that just wasn’t right.

From what she knew of the Autobots, Bumblebee and Jazz were two of their youngest, would probably be in their mid-20s had they been human, and she couldn’t imagine Sam at that age without her and Ron there to watch out for him now and then.

Shaking her head slightly, she opened the door and slipped inside, closing it gently after her. Once she was settled, Jazz started his engine and pulled back onto the road. This time, while the drive wasn’t exactly quiet – Jazz had his radio playing on some country music station – the mech wasn’t quite chatty either. She guessed he was still brooding on the whole concept of family.

“Y’know, in a way, the other Autobots are kind of like your family,” she said.

The radio gave a slight hitch, as if Jazz had been startled out of his thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“Well, family doesn’t just mean biological bonds. When you’ve been living with people for so long that you know them inside-out, they become your family.”

“I guess… if you put it that way.”

“Uh huh. So do you feel any better?”

Jazz was about to answer when the loud screeching of tyres caught his attention, and he cast his scanners back in time to see a pickup truck come barreling at them. He reacted immediately, fishtailing sharply out of the way, but the truck still managed to clip him on the rear fender as it went roaring past them. Jazz hissed, but kept steady and continued to drive.

Judy released her death-grip on the door handles and glared after the truck. “Are you alright, Jazz? I felt him hit you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Didn’t sound fine. Pull over and let me take a look.”

“Judy, its nothing, really.”

“Bumblebee will kill me if I let anything happen to you. Pull over, please.”

Jazz let out a dramatic sigh, but knew better than to argue. Judy could be just as stubborn as Ratchet was and trying to argue with either of them was just a waste of energy. He pulled off the highway at the next exit and found a suitable spot to halt.

Once he had stopped, Judy got out and went to examine his fender. There was a considerable dent in the panel coupled with a nasty-looking rend. To her surprise, there was a small trickle of pale blue fluid leaking from the cut. It served as a reminder that Jazz was not just a car that could talk, but a living, feeling being that could hurt and bleed.

Going back to the door, she reached inside for her purse and took out a small pack of rose-scented wipes, pulling a couple of sheets out and tossing the rest of the pack into the glove compartment. Then she scrunched up the damp cloths and gently dabbed it to the wound, just like she used to when Sam was little and came home with cuts and scrapes.

Jazz hissed in pain again, but held still. The dampness of the wipes took away some of the heat of the sting and the soreness of the bruised panel enough for him to relax a little. Judy cleaned up the last of the bleeding fluid, disposed of the soiled wipes and climbed back in.

“There. I don’t know how much that helps you, but at least you’re not bleeding. You’ll have to get Ron or Ratchet to take a look at it once we get home and put some robot-bandage on it or something,” she said.

“Yeah, thanks… but why? You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well of course I did. You’re a part of the family now.”

There was a smile in Jazz’s voice when he replied. “As long as I don’t have to call you ‘mom’, it’s an honor.”

\-----------


	4. Glove Compartment - Stepping Out - Glen's Story

  
Well, this took a while, too, mainly because I wanted to be careful about writing Glen. I didn't want to make him too crazy and erratic, and wanted to give him a little depth to his character at the same time. I think it came out okay in the end. Am happy with this.

Glen Whitmann stared hard at the piece of white card in his hand as he held it up in front of him, focusing all his strength and inner energies on it. Perhaps if he focused hard enough, he could pull a Johnny Blaze and make it burst into flames. Inner fire within man, and all that. Maybe if he could master the controlling spirit he could burn that demonic little card into ashes.

Five minutes later, he gave up and tossed the card onto his table. No flaming skulls and snazzy leather jackets for him. Not that it would have done him much good where he was going anyway, he thought. Probably bring him even more ridicule and humiliation.

"Reunion Dance, my ass," he muttered.

The invitation had come in the mail that morning, and whereas he would have liked nothing more than to rip the cursed thing in half and toss it in the recycling bin, his cousin had snatched it first and had then insisted on going. Glen had declined at first until the extortionist reminded him that he owed him for the heads-up about the FBI raid.

Glen had tried to argue that since they had been arrested anyway, the favor was moot, but then the little traitor had threatened to never play Warcraft with him again, and to tell his grandma a few things that Glen would rather she not know about - like the fact that he was a hacker now working in secret for the government.

Honestly, this guy was as bad as Simmons.

It didn't help to solve his little problem though. Sure his cousin could say he wanted to go. He wasn't the one who spent his high school years being laughed at and called names. Why? All because he'd been on the amateur wrestling team while Glen relegated himself to the computer club. He didn't see what the appeal had been. His cousin wasn't even a cool wrestler like The Rock or Triple H, but he still got less grief from his peers than Glen.

And now he had to go back and face those same peers, and he couldn't even tell them he had helped save the world.

He needed major help on this front, and there was only one guy that could help him. Rolling to his computer, he logged in and with the tap of a few keys, hijacked a communication line.

"Help me!!!" he screamed into the microphone as soon as the connection was made...

\------------

Jazz all but jumped out of his plating as an organic screech assailed his audio sensors, clapping his hands to his helm as he tried to block out the sound.

“Frag it all! Glen! Shut up!” he roared.

Ironhide stared over at him in alarm. “Are you malfunctioning?”

“No. Glen hacked into my comm-link,” Jazz tried to explain while at the same time trying to get the young man to calm down. “Glen! Get off this frequency now! No, I’m not gonna listen to ya till you do. No! Shut it! Use the phone like a normal human.”

The Solstice shook his head to clear the static in his audio sensors, the result of Glen’s initial scream.

“I don’t think a phone will be of much use to us even if he does use it,” Ironhide told him. “Not like we can answer one.”

Jazz shot him a dirty look. “Next time I’ll tell him to hack into you, and you see how you like some crazy organic violating your sensors.” He placed a hand back to his head as another call came in. “Glen, I swear if you hack into me one more time, I’m gonna come over there and stomp your squishy ass into the ground.”

“Better make sure Optimus didn’t hear that,” Ironhide muttered.

“Hear what?” the Autobot Commander asked, coming into the room.

Jazz cursed and gave Ironhide a look that just dared him to repeat what he’d heard, and face certain retribution if he did.

“He threatened to step on a human,” the black mech replied with a smirk. He knew he’d probably get hell for it later from both Jazz and Bumblebee, but he was bored and up for a challenge.

“You are so dead!”

“Bring it on.”

“Oh, I’ll bring it alright. Rusting sonova…”

“Jazz!”

Optimus leveled him with a patented glare that promised certain lecture if the smaller mech couldn’t come up with a creative way to escape, and fast.

“Would you care to explain why you want to harm the native life forms. Considering this is their planet and the fact that-.”

“Glen and I have privacy issues to deal with, gotta go!” Jazz jumped into alt-mode and sped out of the room before either of the two could stop him. The human had better have a good explanation for this.

\---------------

Glen looked up at the white Autobot towering above him in his back yard, and gulped. Jazz may have been the smallest of the Autobot crew, but he was intimidating, what with those Batman-styled horns and the Wolverine claws and the Cyclops-styled visor. He briefly wondered if Jazz could shoot lasers from his eyes, too.

“Hey! Back to the here-and-now, Glenny-boy. Last person I need to be oogled by is you.” Jazz clicked two clawed fingers in front of the man’s face. “So you wanna tell me why you hacked my radio, nearly got my aft fragged by Optimus and then dragged me all the way down here?”

“I need your help in a big way, man. See, I got this Reunion thingy I have to go to, and well, guy like me? I was never the popular dude in high school, and going back to this thing is just askin’ for people to laugh at me again.”

“Why would they laugh?” Jazz asked. “You’re obviously intelligent, and fun to hang out with on occasion, and despite your tendency to annoy the slag out of me, you’ve got some pretty good taste in music.”

“I wear glasses, play games in front of my computer all day, and I’m fat.”

The Autobot gave a shrug. “So? Doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Well no, but try telling that to a bunch of shallow, upper class, suburban kids. To them, cool means looking anorexic or beefed up, and being an air-head. Why do you think Sam had a hard time with Trent?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jazz was confused now. “I can't possibly squish you into the size you want to be – Optimus’ll have my hide. I’m not going to shine regenerative lasers into your visual sensors either – that’ll have Ratchet after my mech fluid.”

Glen looked as if he’d be physically sick. “Whoa, bad mental images, and with those Krueger-claws….” He gave himself a shake. “Remind me to never watch slasher flicks with you.”

“Your point, Glen.”

“Could you teach me to dance?”

Jazz opened his mouth to say something smart, then shut it again as he ran the unusual request through his processor. “Why would you want me to teach you how to dance.”

“C’mon man, I’ve seen the way you move. That’s style right there, and if a big guy like you can move like that and make it look cool, then there’s still hope for me.”

The First Lieutenant looked squarely at the human, optic to eye. “Glen, all the style in the world ain’t gonna help ya if y’ain’t comfortable in yer own skin. Not being of a certain stereotype doesn’t make you inferior.”

The hacker tried not to look a little dejected. “Easy for you to say.”

“It is. Looked at me lately? I’m the shortest and smallest of the entire bunch, and I’m second-in-command. Y’think I got to that position feelin’ sorry for m’self ‘cause I was a runt? This is who I am, I dealt with it and I’m better for it. You don’t like who you are, why should the rest of us?”

Glen looked back up at him, and Jazz saw something that looked like a flicker of hope in the young man’s eyes. He shifted. “Well, I guess none of ‘em can say they cracked the code of an alien species, or hacked into a Transformer’s radio link.”

“Which, if you do so again, means I will break your fingers.”

“So, dancing. Will you show me a few moves?”

Jazz sighed. “Alright, what do you know?”

“Not much. Just a shuffle here, and a step there.” Glen demonstrated.

Jazz pointed clawed finger straight at him. “Never do that again.” He tossed his hands into the air. “This is gonna take a while. Now, are you at least familiar with this little human game called DDR?”

The human all but bounced in glee. “Do I know DDR?! Sure do!”

“Then imagine a patch of dancefloor as the mat and bust a move, like so…”

\-------------

The white Solstice pulled up in front of the hotel where the reunion dance was being held. Glen looked out of the window a little nervously and tugged at the collar of his shirt. Jazz turned up the air conditioning. He did not want sweat on his leather seats.

“I don’t think I can do this, Jazz,” Glen said.

“You’re not gonna wimp out on me now, not after all the work it took me to whip you into something of a decent dancer,” Jazz replied. “So get your little hacker butt in there and make me proud.”

“What if I screw up?”

“Wont be the end of the world.” Jazz opened his door. “Out.”

“Oh, one thing.” Glen reached into a pocket and withdrew a small memory card, dropping it into the glove compartment. “Just my way of saying thanks. It’s got the newest releases on it, courtesy your friendly neighborhood hacker.”

“That was a lame line, but thanks. Now beat it.”

“Okay!” Glen got out, muttering to himself. “I can do this.”

“Yeah, you can. Just remember the DDR.”

\----------------------------

Also be sure to check out "Free Time" just one entry down on the main page for some Jazz, Bee and Mikaela crack.

**Author's Note:**

> Original date of publication: 31-Aug-2007


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